


1888

by ineffablygay



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fiction, Gay Male Character, Historical, Historical Accuracy, Historical Fantasy, Historical References, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25043362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablygay/pseuds/ineffablygay
Summary: When a creature that feeds on sin is free to wander the earth, the residents of London had better watch out.
Relationships: NA
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. unus

unus.

Whitechapel, London, England

1888

Oleander hadn't killed the prostitute.

Sure, he saw them all the time. Prostitutes were as common as rats in these parts of London. You could walk down an alley and see a man having his way with one right against the wall. More than once he'd been walking down the dank and dirty streets of Whitechapel only to be greeted with the sight of a man attempting to force himself onto some poor, resisting whore. He never stepped in to help, of course - he simply paused long enough to take a deep breath, then walked on, the sounds of the struggle behind him fading soon enough.

That sight was common enough for Whitechapel, and many other places in London. The Victorians had originally been scared of the cities on the rise, the people all packed together and the factories popping up at a feverish pace, but they were coming around, and some were even starting to embrace it. It was a bit of a savage place, really, with the squalor and the crowded conditions, the violence and the lawlessness and disease running rampant. All of it made London the perfect place for someone like Oleander to get his fill of sin and spoiled souls. That’s all Oleander really needed - it was what he fed on, what kept him going. He soaked in the bad energy that the sins and misdeeds of humanity gave off, inhaled it.

He'd been in London for a few years now, and as the city became more and more populated, the sinfulness only escalated. Plus, Jack the Ripper, as the notorious murderer had been christened, apparently by himself, seemed like he was here to stay. It wasn't often that Oleander got to soak in the sinergy brought on by brutal, bloody murder, but when he did, by god was it a treat.

To his dismay, he'd never actually gotten to see Jack do the action itself. That would've been a day. He'd only ever gotten to see the aftermath, standing around with everyone else, hovering like flies attracted to horse shit and buzzing the same way with fear and excitement and anticipation and questions. They'd watch as the police examined the poor, mangled body of the prostitute who'd fallen victim, and without fail someone in the crowd would murmur about how the poor lady was asking for it, living such an unholy lifestyle, it was only a matter of time until God put an end to it. That always made Oleander laugh. These stupid little humans. They thought their god cared about them enough to be individually involved in the life of every human on the planet - it was as adorable as it was pathetic and delusional. 

\---

Whitechapel was especially disgusting. Oleander couldn't stand the way his shoes squelched with each step he took, the ground wet with human waste and sewer water and animal excrement and rotten garbage. It reeked too, but Oleander was desperate enough that he was willing to put up with it.

He was hungry.

His usual methods of getting a meal weren't working as they usually did, for some odd reason. He went to the market, where people were shouting and screaming and haggling and fighting and stealing, but it didn't fill him. He went to the docks, with its smuggled goods and underpaid laborers and awful working conditions, barely anything. So, he went to the one place he knew was always soaking in sin - the alleys of Whitechapel, where there was always some horror waiting to be found. 

Oleander arrived in the disease rampant section of the city expecting to find some residue from the previous murders in the air, something that could hopefully satisfy his gnawing hunger for human evil and ruin.

What he didn't expect to find was a murder in progress.

Right away it was clear that the girl was already past saving. Her throat was slit, and she was lying in a puddle of her own blood. Oleander didn't know what alerted the hooded figure crouched over the girl of his presence, but before he could even react, the killer was sprinting away, leaving the bloody knife behind in their haste. And then, to make things even messier, he heard a blood-curdling shriek from the mouth of the alley, and then a scream.

"IT'S THE RIPPER!"

And then the police were there, having come out of fucking nowhere, and Oleander was standing in the alley with a bloody knife on the ground and the body of a prostitute who was fading fast at his feet. 

\---

The police in London were absolute morons. Aside from smacking him around and dragging him away from the crime scene (and making him lose a shoe in the process), they also were apparently deaf. He'd been sitting at the police station for what must have been over two hours when a witness finally came forward. They said that they'd seen what had happened from the mouth of the alley and told the police that Oleander had merely stumbled upon the scene at the same time that the man had walked by. He'd watched as Oleander stood frozen, then the Ripper had sprinted off. Once he'd told the police his story, they made him tell it again. Then again. And _again_. They claimed it was merely a method of fact-checking, to make sure the story was straight and all the details in line. Oleander was convinced it was to fuck with him. Finally, after the witness telling the tale five times in total, Oleander was released. After all, they didn't have any evidence on which to hold him. There was no blood on his person, and the bloody shoe prints left in the mud around the body didn't match his own. 

Fucking idiots.

\---

By the time he got out, he was thoroughly pissed, his eyes glowing yellow with hunger. He had to walk back through Whitechapel in order to get to his home, and with every muddy step he took his foul mood only worsened. It didn't help that he still only had one shoe, the other forever lost, probably scooped up within moments of losing it by someone who would sell it or use it themselves or use the material it was made from. In London, it was better to have two mismatching shoes or even one than to have none at all. Shoes were a commodity.

He was so wrapped up in his own misery that he didn't even notice the struggle going on until it was maybe two feet away from him. A prostitute in a stained dress, holding onto a shorter, thinner young man. 

"Please - please, sir, I need it - just let me-" she begged, trying desperately to force her lips onto his. The man she was holding prisoner seemed to want nothing less than her advances, however. He was squirming desperately, his face turned to avoid the unwanted kiss.

Well, this was certainly an interesting sight. Oleander was pretty sure the roles were usually reversed. A cane lay a few feet away in the dirt, and Oleander saw the male glance back at it longingly. 

"Please sir, I need coin, I'll make you feel good-" the prostitute continued to babble. Then, suddenly, Oleander snapped to his senses. Here he was, half-mad with hunger, and here was a meal right in front of him. He quickly stepped forward and pried the man away from the prostitute, but before Oleander could grab the harlot, she was on her feet and sprinting away, out of the alley. An enraged growl escaped Oleander's throat as he watched his meal escape. He looked around, searching for something, anything to feed off of. Then his eyes landed on the male with the cane. He lunged at him, pinning him to the wall and gripping him tightly by the shoulders. He opened his mouth, breathed in, and -

...nothing.

What?

That wasn't possible.

He inhaled again, and again, nothing. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes glowing a yellow, sickly color. "How are you holding it back?"

"What? H-holding what back, I don't-" The male stammered, but Oleander cut him off.

"What are you? Are you one of the angels?"

"Angel? No, I-I'm Theo! Look, I really don't know what you're talking about, but if you're looking for money-"

"I don't want your money, you idiot." Oleander snarled, spit nearly flying from his lips in his hungered frenzy. "I need your sinergy. Stop holding it back!"

"My _what_?" Theo yelped, looking up at Oleander with big brown eyes. 

"Your sinergy, the sinful energy you have, I need it. All humans have it..." Oleander said, then trailed off. He paused, looking at Theo for a long moment. "Except for you. You're human, but...you don't have any sin for me."


	2. duo

duo.

Whitechapel, London, England

1888

Theo breathed a sigh of relief when the man with the white hair finally released him. He'd met lots of crazies over the years, of course. When you were born, raised, and stayed in London they became an everyday part of life. Rarely did they get so close and personal, though.

Theo was shoved back when the male roughly let go of his shirt, one of his shoulder blades digging painfully into the brick wall behind him for a brief moment. He watched as the stranger paced back and forth in front of him, his face twisted into one of rage. His eyes took in the details of his person, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out "Where's your shoe?" 

Now, someone wearing one shoe or wearing two different shoes wasn't an uncommon sight in London. Shoes were expensive, and with the streets of London being what they were, covered in waste and garbage filthy water and all other sorts of things, tended not to last long. However, the man in front of him didn't fit the majority. He was wearing a suit with no tears, no holes, no missing buttons. It looked to be made of good quality material, and the shoe that he did have was of the dressier kind, rather than the common labor man's work shoe. He could clearly afford a full pair of shoes, so Theo, reasonably curious, in his opinion, asked.

The reasoning behind Theo's abrupt and unexpected question might have been obvious to him, but that didn't seem to be the case for the man in the fancy outfit. He paused in his pacing to look at Theo as though he had suddenly sprouted an extra head or two. 

"What?" he asked. 

"Your shoes, you've only got one. Where's the other gone?" 

The white-haired man looked down as though he'd forgotten he was wearing only one and was shocked by the sight, then his gaze snapped back to Theo. 

"Why's it matter to you?" he asked suspiciously, eyeing Theo with a wariness that the shorter male was all too familiar with. 

"Well - I suppose it doesn't, I was just wondering-" 

"It's none of your concern, and if you keep asking questions, I'll take the other shoe and shove it up your ass." he said sharply.

Theo lifted his eyebrows, holding his hands up a bit to show that he would let the matter drop. 

"Alright, fine. Can I at least get your name?" he asked.

"No."

"Why won't you answer my questions?"

"Why do you keep asking so many?"

"Why are you getting so defensive?" Theo shot back. 

"Why were you so against that prostitute? She was throwing herself at you, most blokes would accept her advances in a heartbeat."

At that, Theo faltered. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. As Oleander watched, he seemed to deflate a little, his expression crumpling. However, he quickly picked it back up, slapping on an expression of unconcern and shrugging a bit. 

"Money's hard to come by. I can't go around throwing it at street ladies." he said, and while Oleander had a feeling there was more to it than the boy was letting on, he didn't press the issue any further. He just scoffed a bit, eyeing Theo rather incredulously. 

"If only the rest of the male population in this city agreed with you. Maybe there wouldn’t be so much poverty and orphaned or abandoned kids." he said with a slight derisive snort. "Since you answered my question, I suppose it's only fair to answer one of yours. My name's Oleander." 

"Huh. That's not one you hear often. Mine's Theo, my real name's-" 

Before he could get any further, Oleander held up a hand, speaking quickly and cutting him off.

"Didn't ask, don't care." He said, looking around for a moment before his eyes landed on Theo's cane, which had been lost at some point during his struggle with the prostitute. Moving with surprising grace for someone who only had one shoe, he walked over and bent down, picking it up from where it lay abandoned in a puddle, all in one smooth, easy movement. 

"Thank you-" Theo started, reaching out for the walking stick, but Oleander made a 'tsk' sound, holding it just out of reach. 

"Patience. You can get this back as soon as you tell me what you really are and why you're here." 

"I'm sorry - what?"

"Oh, don't play dumb." Oleander snapped, his fingers curling tightly around the cane so that his knuckles went white. "I'm not stupid. You don't have any sinergy on you, and there's barely enough residual traces to get a taste. You're telling me that in the last twenty-four hours, you haven't done a single awful thing? That's impossible."

By now, Theo was lost, and it showed on his face. Sinergy, residual traces, he had no idea what the white-haired man was going on about. That didn't mean he wasn't intrigued, though. He had many questions, and he wanted answers, and he had a feeling he knew how to get them. 

"So... let me get this straight. You're hungry." he said tentatively.

"Obviously."

"And you need this...sinergy, which is..."

"The negative energy you humans exude with every bad act you commit. It's not that hard to understand." Oleander snapped. At this point, he was too hungry to care about holding anything back.

"Here - I'll tell you what. You're hungry, and I have questions. I know somewhere where you can get this - this sinergy, somewhere close by. I'll take you there, and in return, you can answer my questions. Deal?" Theo asked, arching a brow.

Oleander glared disdainfully at the male. He didn't like being at the mercy of this short little human, but at the moment he didn't appear to have much choice unless Theo suddenly committed some heinous act that would sustain him. Since that probably wouldn't happen anytime soon, it looked like Oleander was stuck. With a sigh of disgust, he thrust the cane towards Theo. 

"Let's get on with it, then. But if another prostitute throws herself at you, I'm not stopping her."


	3. tres

tres. 

Whitechapel, London, England

1888

Walking through London with Theo was an experience the likes of which Oleander had never known until now. He’d been living in this city for several years now, but he’d never seen it this way. Walking with Theo, for some reason, seemed to affect his perspective, the way he saw things. Everything seemed to be more intense, more sharp and vivid and vibrant. Whereas before he’d usually seen it as a blur, a muffled mess of dull, muted colors and filth, everything was clearer. He was seeing and hearing the same things as he had before now, of course. Newspaper boys shouting the latest headlines, street vendors hawking their wares, women shouting the latest gossip at each other from filthy open windows for all the people on the street below to hear, the rattle of passing coaches and the barking of stray dogs. None of that had changed, but it seemed instead that Oleander was the one who’d changed. Maybe Theo's seemingly endless curiosity, limitless excitement and energy was affecting him somehow. 

This wasn't his first time in London. He remembered the city when it wasn't London, wasn't a city at all, back when the world was young. There had been a marketplace like there was now, with shouting vendors and chattering women and screeching chickens running about underfoot. It was greener, however. The language they spoke was different. _He_ was different. He'd had a family. Siblings. Things hadn’t been so dirty, so dark - he hadn’t been so dark...

But that was long, long ago, and few were around to remember it now. 

“So... what were you doing in Whitechapel?” Theo’s voice brought him back to the present, Oleander turning to look at the male. He was quite a bit shorter, the top of his copper curled head barely reaching Oleander’s shoulder. Sure, Oleander could be considered exceptionally tall, standing at a height of six foot four and tending to look down on most others, but at the same time, Theo was short, even by normal human standards. By Oleander’s estimate - which wasn’t very good, seeing as he wasn’t too familiar with human numbers, but would still work well enough for a simple task like this - the male was just above five and a half feet. Oleander had seen children taller than this human, and Oleander, despite his lack of knowledge in the department, could confidently say that Theo was not a child. If, however, he was mistaken for one, it wouldn’t be completely unreasonable.

His short stature aside, the male was slight and thin, on the frailer side. His skin was pale, and one of his front teeth was chipped at the corner, giving him an endearing, boyish quality. Not that Oleander thought it was endearing, of course. His eyes, big and brown, had a bright shine to them that was uncharacteristic of his surroundings. While it seemed that the dust of London had settled on the gaze of most of the city’s inhabitants, dimming their eyes and making them appear rather lackluster, Theo’s eyes were different. Though dark in color, they were glowing with curiosity, the kind of luminescence that Oleander had come to associate with youth. He could also see something else in Theo’s eyes - an intense determination the likes of which Oleander had seen in so many humans over the centuries, the ones with _goals_ , dreams and aspirations. Rights to wrong, things to prove and so on. There was another thing he could see, underneath it - a sadness, something dark and heavy. Whatever it was though, Theo clearly hadn’t let it overtake him. It was clear in the way he walked alongside Oleander, a faint hint of a smile on his lips and a determination in his stride. For someone with a limp and a cane, he walked pretty well. 

“...still with me?” With a start, Oleander looked down at Theo to realize that the male was looking up at him expectantly. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember what had been said to him in the moments leading up to now, but nothing came to him, and when he looked around he realized that they were at least a block and a half away from where he’d last taken notice of his surroundings. He looked down at Theo, nodding and giving an affirmative hum. Theo merely scoffed, rolling his eyes a bit and shaking his head. 

“You haven’t heard anything I’ve been saying, have you?” he asked, and after a moment Oleander shook his head. He was surprised to find that he felt, well, a hint of… remorse nag at him. This was more than a little odd - guilt wasn’t something that came to him often, and if it did, it wouldn’t have come as a result of such a small, unimportant matter. Shaking it off and willing the sudden warmth in his cheeks to fade, he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“‘fraid not. Be honest, though - was it terribly important, or at least somewhat so?”

Theo either didn’t notice the slight dig at him, or he chose not to acknowledge it, merely walking on with that small, infuriating smile on his lips as he looked ahead. 

“You alright? You seem to do that a lot - space off. Or at least, you’ve done it twice in the time I’ve been talking to you.”

“Well, maybe you’re not nearly as interesting as you think you are.” Oleander said, trying to regain that sense of composed confidence he always had. Something about the last few minutes had him feeling… oddly unsteady, and he wasn’t going to lie - he didn’t like it much at all. 

Once again, Theo let Oleander’s snide comment roll off of his back like water, and Oleander made a note of how incredibly infuriating this was. He’d long ago learned how remarkably short tempered so many humans were, and he found great pleasure in pushing the buttons that made them tick. It was simply, easy, and incredibly amusing. The fact that he apparently couldn’t tick off Theo both annoyed and alarmed him. 

“And maybe _you’re_ avoiding the questions I’m asking.” Theo said without skipping a beat.

“Then you should stop prying so much.” Oleander said back sharply, and Theo arched a brow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but humans find it less than agreeable.”

“Humans. So, you’re not one.” Theo said, and Oleander couldn’t hold back the snort of a derisive laugh that escaped.

“You’re just figuring that out now? How many humans do you know that have a steady diet of sin?” he asked, and Theo laughed. His laugh, unlike Oleander’s demeaning one, was genuinely happy, authentic, a little bubbly too. 

“Well - you have a point. I was pretty sure you weren’t. But you _look_ human, so I couldn’t be completely sure. Say - why do you look human?”

“Because I left my Martian costume at home, obviously. Do the questions ever stop with you?” Oleander asked, stopping in the middle of the walk to look down at Theo. “Or are you always this prying and annoying?”

“Ha-ha, very funny. And come on, Ollie - you can’t expect me not to pry. I mean, you show up in the Ripper’s favorite spot, claiming to eat sin, you won’t answer my questions-”

“Sorry - what did you just call me?” Oleander asked, arching a brow as he cut off Theo mid-sentence. His eyes were narrowed and suspicious, but Theo didn’t flinch away from his sharp gaze. 

“Ollie. Oleander’s kind of a mouthful, you know, so I figured a nickname-” Theo said, then continued when Oleander’s dumbfounded expression didn’t disappear. “You know, nicknames. Those things us humans give to one another, usually a shorter version of a-”

“Yes, yes, I _know_ what a nickname is. But I-I didn’t give you permission to give me one!” Oleander said and was alarmed to find himself stuttering. He never stuttered. What was happening to him?

“Sorry. Ollie. It’s too late. Don’t worry, you’ll grow to love it.”

“Yes, just like I’d grow to love a second set of arms sprouting out of my torso.” Oleander muttered, and Theo laughed again, that boyish, joyful sound. 

“Don’t count it out too quickly. Four arms could be useful, you never know.” he said, and Oleander looked at him before shaking his head, scoffing in disgust. 

“Are you always like this?” he asked, and Theo just smiled, looking up at Oleander and tapping his finger to his lips in thought. 

“Ollie? Or maybe Andy… no. Ollie fits you?” he said, and Oleander’s eye twitched. He was about to tell this annoying little human something else that ‘fit’, specifically Oleander’s fist in Theo’s face, but before he could say anything Theo continued.

“Come on, we’re almost there. Besides, looks like it’s going to rain.” he said, looking up at the sky, an imposing solid gray blanket above the filthy city. He started forward once more, and after a moment Oleander had no choice but to follow. 


	4. Announcement

New chapter coming tomorrow!


	5. Update

Hey, everyone! I'm alive. College got really busy, but yesterday officially marked the end of the semester, so I'm hoping to get some writing done and updates posted. In the meantime, how are all of you? What do you think of the story so far? 

As always, thanks for everything. I plan on having an update up by Christmas, but either way - Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah - anything you celebrate, I hope it goes well - and Happy New Year! 

Remember - comments are always appreciated, feedback is my drug of choice.

-J


End file.
